Riding the torpedo to San Antonio

Taking a pit stop on route to San Antonio.

Taking a pit stop on route to San Antonio.

“Welcome to the most free unfree country in the world,” said an off duty U.S. soldier we met in a San Antonio bar with his girlfriend.

Drew, Pete and I had been chatting to them about the puzzling mix of bureaucratic red tape in the U.S. co-existing with the cultural philosophy and, more often than not, practise of anything goes.

Either way, we hadn’t given up on our savage journey to the heart of the American Dream, riding that strange torpedo in the wake of Hunter S. Thompson:

“Our trip was different. It was a classic affirmation of everything right and true and decent in the national character. It was a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country–but only for those with true grit. And we were chock full of that.”

Or were we? We weren’t really paying that much attention. We had months of pay accumulated during Afghanistan and could keep the Sebring full of gas and ordering rounds of drinks deep into the night. That seemed enough in San Antonio…

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